I remember that unmistakable soft smell that sometimes still envelopes me when I open an old box of my mothers clothes. I remember her soft hands and those powerful embraces that told how much and how deeply she loved.

I remember her long hair, her bare feet, which as a little boy I often caressed while she put her makeup on. Whenever she had to go to a dinner or a cocktail party, she would always say, “Oh, if only I could stay home and eat in the kitchen with you.”

I remember the beautiful evening dresses: Givenchy always, and Valentino in Rome… peacoats in the winter, collars turned up… square-toed boots in the 1970s, cotton pants and Lacostes in the summer, ballet slippers and a long robe around the house in the morning...